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It was the first time he would come to her country – to her city – to her home.

She remembered that one night he said to her that people are different when are at their own home. They feel much more safe and with a kind of power because know the place.

She smiled.

She was in silence thinking if she just her all over the World was insecure.

During almost a month before he would come – she began to organize her home. Little gifts. Some food that she knew he liked. She didn’t forget his preferred chocolate. She bought new sheets and of course new pillows.

Every evening – after the job – one new part of the organization was ready. She worked all day and at the end – came back home, parked the car and went walking to the stores close home.

Then came back home with some packages and talked with him by net.

As he said once about a cheese – it was a ritual.

But – there was a “between”.

First they would meet at the airport for a trip and after would come home.

A time to breath – she thought. She was in fact a little upset: she wanted so much that he felt good. Confortable. Warmish. Happy.

She discovered that she was living a phase full of “first time” on her life. Not only rituals. The “first time” was much more.

And a new surprise – everybody put the feelings of the “first time” like there was no value. The value was important after the first time – when an experience was born and created.

What a fool idea – she said this phrase in high voice while she was going in direction of the noise – and herself was surprised with her voice. She smiled.

Sometimes the memories need a sound to exist and confirm the happenings.

The dog was almost a partner of this confirmation. She barked in such a way that she knew exactly what she would met. Or the opposite – the dog knew exactly what she was thinking.

She stopped and touched the photo on the way to the noise. She touched his face so full of joy.

Are you sure, baby, that you are not afraid to fly into a helicopter? Are you sure? It is not to have any kind of angst. And are you sure also that go by boat to a waterfall will not make you feel uncomfortable? Ok. We will go together. Every detail is still planned. Just enjoy. And I am so happy because you want to go. I know you – I know your fears – even you hide them. But I know also your style when a partnership is requested.

And she went.

The helicopter there was without problem. It was a short route and a wonderful view. She was almost falling down from the helicopter. So excited.

The distance from the land and also from the sky made her feel between nothing. It was a delicious sensation. Not so high and not so down – between nothing and so much.

Just the sound could remember the movements – or the opposite. And she remembered one evening when they were talking very far one to another and he said – to have sound is necessary to have movement.

For many days she thought about the importance inside his phrase. Not only for the sound or the movements. She thought about the importance of the deductions and the consequences on the Life for itself. Since the voice until a gesture – all the movements were denounced by a sound. Perfect.

The boat.

It was a memorable experience.

She entered in the boat with him. She held his hand. She sit so calm. She held his hand. The boat trembled on the water. She held his hand. Sometimes a lot of water came into the boat. She held his hand. The driver made some terrible curves and the boat seemed be under the water. She held his hand. Finally they were in front of the waterfall so terribly cold. She held his hand. The water covered her face and eyes and she couldn’t see anything else. She held his hand. She said to him – what a delicious sensation. After some minutes the driver made a new curve and the boat reeved so much water. She held his hand.

When they stopped finally beside a pier – she left his hand.

Wait a minute, baby. I have to account my fingers. One…two…three…four… yes all are here. The ten. My hand is the same before the boat.

They smiled so much.

Some months after he said to her that – that boat trip was the most important proof of love that someone demonstrated to and for him. It was a delicious moment for him: the waterfall and her hand holding his hand because of the fear – but together.

It was one of the many “first time“ for her.

She learned another lesson – it doesn‘t matter the fear. With fear or without fear – things happen. There was no chance to change. Share is the best part of the Life – and of course a hand. She smiled again because the phrase was said in high voice – and of course a hand.

The memory was – for sure – having a funny time.

He entered in her home. That was a joke between them. The home box. It was a little apartment – of course very different from his huge apartment.

She smiled. One night, maybe one week before he comes, she asked what size were his shoes. He acted as always – made a joke. Do you think that my feet are so big and may not go inside your box? Do not worry. I can be sit with my legs close to me in some corner.

She smiled so much.

When they were into the airplane coming back to the home box after the little trip she was so tense – shaking the legs. She held his hand in a different way from the boat. She was happy and concerned – so many feelings colliding at the same time. But the happiness it was a real sensation. She was so much happy. Felicità – this was the right word.

She opened the door and said: come in my dear. Here is our box.

But after he entered at her home – he was so quiet. He excused by the jokes.

She read on his skin his thinking.

He saw all her care with the home box and understood everything that she did alone. He could imagine what she felt in that distance day when she moved alone. He looked at the objects and could read her story.

He understood all she had lost but also all she changed in gain. He looked at her books in the bookshelf and discovered her style of thinking. He was touched and maybe a little surprised.

Meeting out home is completely different to a meeting inside home. She knew his home first. Now he new her home and maybe knew her in another way.

She remembered that night when he said that people are different when are at their own home. Now she knew that the difference is not inside the person who lives in the home. The difference is inside the eyes of the person who come into. And sometimes the visitant and the host are inside a mirror. Both can reflect each other.

But this miracle just happens for few, much few.

She was sure that it was another “first time”.

He received the surprises and looked at her, touched so soft her face with both hands and kissed her with so much tender.

Happiness is an excellent partner of intimate comprehension. And she could feel all his love in the dark silence of the night. For the “first time” the home box seemed be huge.

In the early morning she woke up and looked at him beside her. A strong sensation of joy invaded her. With the most possible silence (she was in movement) – while he slept she wrote almost a poem.

I promise to myself

I will pay attention to the Time

as if the Time was a child

that needs to be well feed

well warmed

well cared

now I promise to myself

I will pay attention

for being alive.

The almost poem was deep in her mind – in her emotion. Maybe because of this she remembered in silence. No voice. Memories have also their own reasons. She respected.

They went by car. The road was calm and no much traffic. The music into the car was delicious. The climate outside was very cold. There was snow all around the road and over the grass.

He drove so safe and calm – listening the music and sometimes their voices with some new story created a new musicality. Some stops for a coffee or something else and they came back to the road – until the city he chose for their weekend.

Be here into the car. I think I passed away from the entrance of our inn. I will go back walking and if is the right way I will come and we will go. Just wait a minute.

Yes. It is there and so close to here. Come on walking and later I will park the car. No problem for now.

The city was beautiful. Beautiful. It was a little medieval city with much history, so beautiful places, restaurants, so lightness. Delicious. The river around the city gave a warmth sensation. The smell of the city was unforgettable.

She could not close her mouth or her eyes.

He put her in front of him and said: it is here.

The inn.

The inn it was a Castle/Museum.

It was one of his surprises like the book and like the messages. He was always quiet before a surprise. She knew him and his silence before the surprise that he was planned. She was sure that it will be a special trip – but she could never imagine something wonderful like that – never.

They came into the Castle. An elegant and nice woman with a calm smile came to host them.

He held her hand and she followed him. She looked around – since the floor until the ceiling – all was so impressive. Beautiful. So many and beautiful classic paintings were on the walls. As if they had entered into a time tunnel – a fantastic and full of luxury time tunnel.

He did the protocol to the check-in and the woman invited them to follow her to their bedroom. She would show the space and would tell a little bit history of the place. In the next morning they would visit the Castle with a guide. All was programmed.

Come on. Come on, baby. You will see all tomorrow morning. Now we have to go to our bedroom and I have plans to our night.

She went behind him with fast steps. He pulled her with the hand and smiled.

The room was unbelievable. Huge. Many statues. Many curtains. White curtains. On the bed red flowers gave a hot tone. She hugged him.

She could never – never – expect for this kind of surprise.

She was touched. He was touched. So much energy between them – it was difficult to separate the level of such emotion. She tried. But she was not sure if she really demonstrated all he did for her.

She was in doubt if he understood all her surprise. She was touched also for the Castle, of course for the indescribable bedroom with the statues – but much more for his care with her.

He looked for some special to surprise her. He was so discreet. But she was sure that the choice was to make her feel so happy.

And he did. She was so happy.

After this she began to learn about care. Care is almost a philosophy and a style of behavior. Care born from inside to outside, never the opposite. Nobody can pretend care – it is impossible if is not deep inside.

Care is the best line to tie two persons. The rest can be silence – as the England author said. But only few persons have the chance to feel or understand this in fact – inside and outside. She felt she was a privileged.

She was acting like a child. Taking pictures. Walking back and forth into the bedroom – lying down on the bed and standing up many times.

It was funny to watch her. And he smiled a lot sat on the chair while she walked and thanked him.

Now come on to our dinner. We have reservations.

They went walking on the stone streets like it was in the beginning of the city – many centuries ago. They crossed an old short bridge. The lights of the houses reflected on the water of the river seemed a new city submersed. Just few people were walking on the streets. There was much more silence than noise.

The restaurant was a new surprise. Fantastic. A house. They sat beside a big window.

At this time – she smiled and of course photographed.

The name it was Osteria da Bice – La Gallina Felice. She smiled and explained to him. Both smiled – the life turned as a party at that moment. And she said the habitual phrase when she was really happy: thank you Universe I didn’t die last year. And he smiled.

The food was perfect. The wine was delicious.

She touched his hand. He held her hand. They kissed and hugged – so much warm on their skin – so much Existence on their touch.

Sometimes the World is perfect – translation and rotation in the exact time and soft movements.

That was one of these “sometimes”.

Walking back to the Castle he said to her – more surprises are waiting for you tomorrow morning.

No. Not so fast. Just changed the memories – maybe a joke from the brain. Sometimes could be a bad joke and other times – delicious jokes. It depends of the moment that the brain worked against or in favor.

While she moved in direction at the noise some made her remember the first time they said goodbye.

But it was clear what happened inside her.

In front of her, on the way to the door, there was a picture. He was with her in a photo when they were in that wonderful cave. She took the picture. Both together and with a shy smiled. The photo was there since ever – she put in front at the place that she preferred to write.

She sat on the same chair – put papers on the small round table – most of the times a bowl of popcorn. As she usually described herself writing – she went into a private bubble – with popcorn for partner and witness.

When she was inside the house and sat on the little round table the first look it was around the space. Like she had requirement of a certified of localization – or something similar.

There were always flowers around their picture and a crystal stone rested close to a little dish she bought in another city. From the ceiling hanged – a small photo of Hercules that he gave to her in one of their trips.

And behind all – like a monument – there was a big mirror.

Obviously when she looked at the photo all the ideas ran away and she just spent her creativity thinking about him. It was a funny scene. She smiled about herself and her new teen style.

One day, looking at the mirror in front of her she learned that there is nothing better than a mirror when she wanted to write. All the images were duplicated and the time seemed the same – double. In front of the mirror all the ideas and the images that flew inside her – made jokes with sanity and disease or with reality and fantasy.

And she never wrote in another place. Almost never – because sometimes she loved write in front of the sea – making the same jokes about sanity and disease or fantasy and reality – using the waves as a mirror. But the sea was most of the time so far from her.

Looking at the photo on the way to the noise she remembered the first time after their meeting that they said goodbye. It was difficult and poetic at the same time.

She discovered that missing and pain make a perfect pair – a hard and strong couple.

But she also discovered that say goodbye for someone – if love is the basis – carried inside the word much more feelings than a hello. It is like the end of a chapter when is finished – but the memory is feed forever for the words and images. And the end of the chapter – cause a new chapter inside the mind.

Once she tried to explain for a friend this feeling – but she didn’t understand and she stopped to try. Explication is easily absorbed if the other has the same idea of involvement but if not – it is a lost of time for both.

Feelings and conventional styles are antagonists. There are some possible rules for the Pleasure – but not for the Desire.

And she learned once more that there are much more sides of solitude than she thought.

When they said the first goodbye in that evening – it was a hard moment. She didn’t know what to do. It was the first time in her life that she felt so unbelievable sensation. She remembered that he asked – at the last moment – for a coffee. When he began to drink the coffee he said in low voice – I didn’t want to drink a coffee now, but it was a way to be three minutes more with you.

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t drink. All the body was accomplice for the farewell. As only lost – and nothing could relief the lost – even a little coffee. And the body was closed.

She was full of lost and empty of touch. She was full of nothing and empty of everything. It was a strange sensation. Maybe ambiguity was the only word that could translate her emotions.

She decided do not tell him. She knew him and she was absolutely sure that he would be concerned. She suffered with her own and selfish emotion. Selfish – at that moment – it was much more a necessity than a style.

After they said goodbye and she come back home alone – during some months all the mornings she prayed for the night and all the nights she prayed for the morning.

And the mornings and night maybe prayed for itself.

And when she was sad – she read the message that he sent after they said goodbye – speechless, astonished, touched.

With these three words for partnership – she waited for the Life or for the Destiny decisions.

At his home she sat on the floor, on the beautiful carpet multicolored.

He sat by her on the chaise long. He was a little bit different, maybe more tender.

She was delighted.

Touching her hair, he began to talk.

Never in my Life I believed in Destiny. I always believed that each person looks for changes or just left the years go on. Sometimes could feel comfortable, sometimes fighting for make the dreams possible realities. Other times making efforts to survive inside the line of the dreams. That was my idea of Existence – objective and simple. Then – I met you in the middle of a strange country. Both foreign. Both lonely. Each one isolated – and both looking for nothing more than nothing. And a meeting happened independent of our desires. You were there. I was there. We were at the same time into the same place. You “recognized” me by my hands. I “recognized” you by your smile. Maybe. Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. We “recognized” us. Then you changed my mind. Our meeting is Destiny.

She touched his legs and closed her eyes – as always when she wanted to feel much more than the eyes could show.

She felt his breathing – excited and calm. She smelled his skin – sweet and hot. She heard his voice – soft and strong. Her hands made the way on his body and she could draw his emotion.

She didn’t need her eyes to see him – she could see him by the strokes of her own heart.

She was in silence. His words were precious. He was so discreet and never she heard him exposes his own feelings. She was afraid to say some wrong word and the moment disappear like the meeting of a pin on a bubble. She was afraid of pin much more than the bubbles.

She was care.

He was confident.

She lay her head on his shoulders and both were in silence. The first movement after some time it was from him. His mouth looked for her silence. The night was a little cold. No fog. No rain. Just a wind entered in the room.

She was touched.

He was entire.

She was involved.

He was surprised.

He was touched.

She was entire.

He was involved.

She was surprised.

And like a tango – their body and mind answered to the Destiny – what the Destiny decided for them.

It was an unforgettable moment.

All had happened so many time ago – but for her it was like now. All the really Important moments in the life never be old or aged. Important moments do not have Past or Future – are Present. This is the magician and the value to be alive.

She went to the terrace. The sea was in front of her. Calm. Light blue. The horizon’s line was covered by fog – wonderful without limits. At this time she had learned a new lesson about fog.

The sand was so white. There was nobody at the beach – it were not the months for beach travels. The absence of so many voices during the beach season permitted her to listen the voice of the waves – and sometimes a quick and musical dialogue between some calm wave and an impulsive bird.

She loved this.

A dog alone and so fast came running over the sand and stopped in front of the terrace and smiled to her – she knew what was this advice. She smiled also back to her.

She came back into the room. The book was on the table – like in a first step of some language class. She smiled again but it was true. The book had inaugurated their spiritual meeting and the levels changed – after the book – were based on the beginning.

Always the book was near her. Like a strong and permanent symbol – from them to them.

For many times she tried to find from who was the book. Who was the partner of the Life. But never discovered and one day she decided to finish to look for. For sure the author of the inscription preferred the anonymity – she or he – didn’t sign the name.

The stories like the inscriptions are forever. And she respected this right – never more made investigations.

Touching the book she remembered the exact moment of the choice. The day at the Park. The car. The Cafeteria. The old but elegant building. She was surprised when he said – I knew you loved this author Fernando Pessoa. How he knew and she asked a foolish question – because of my idiom? He said a little bit angry – I know you much more than your original idiom, please.

She laughed.

A new code was born between them – a word – snot. Yes. He was so snot when he wanted to be. But he -never – was rude or unpleasant with her. Never. And this word was understood much more as a word of tender than a word of fight. A delicious code created by them in a delicious time of their lives.

She remembered when once he asked – you nevermore called me snot. Don’t you love me anymore? And both laughed like a special celebration of the perfect happiness.

They walked together to that some he found for her. She trusted he was right.

And – in fact – he was right.

He took her hand, soft but strong touch, driving in a small alley. People were forced to pass on another way. They didn’t separate the hands.

Before a hedge, there was a building a little bit old but with elegance. A main door, wooden, decorated. Stately. He rang a bell.

She looked at him – she was waiting the surprise and this strange city, with big roads and small alley was becoming to be host.

The main door opened but nobody was. He lead inside a little garden, pushed the brown door. A few steps later and appeared a library, no, a bookshop, full of old books, right clean. No dust – he said.

Absolutely, said a thin voice, coming from the inner part of the room. An old man, oldest than him, come out and asks what do you wish, please?

She was mute – just observing. She knew that when he decided to do a surprise for her – he was happy to be the boss in a good sense.

I wish to show the last antique bookstore of the city, maybe madam likes some book and I will buy it.

What do you prefer madam?

I prefer a romantic one – not too pop.

Between Petrarca and Goethe? Prévert or Garcia Lorca? I have the first edition, obvious.

The silence was around her but inside her. She was with big eyes looking at the books in shelving 4 meters high, up to the ceiling.

Let me think about, please. I know now, Pessoa.

Sure, madam, I have this small book of poems by Pessoa. Don’t open, don’t read the tittle, only at home, please.

He asked for the price but the bookseller said: nothing, it’ the last day for this last antique bookstore and I will be happy if you read this poems with love in your heart.

They looked to him, did a curtsy and without a word they went out.

She held the small book, maybe for fear that it disappeared. Her heart beat wildly in her breast.

She was so surprised as happy. And a positive emotion invaded her – maybe for the first time in her life someone was really interested in make her feel not so lonely.

Before left the bookstore she looked behind – so fast because the man was closing the big door – just to say bye for the books. Like an adoption – when only one will have a home.

Holding the small book – she looked at him while crossed the streets and couldn’t say one word. It was really too much emotion. They went together to a Cafeteria – there were much places to sit but at that moment just them. Or maybe not – they were so closer and inside themselves that maybe they didn’t pay attention around them.

He offered so kind a sit to her. His soft hand touched her arms and hair. She said several thanks for him and he smiled back the same several times.

She caressed the cover of the book before open. The book had a cover of brown leather. Inside – the paper was so fine and delicate. She felt the pages with the fingers. After she felt with the open hand. For a while he couldn’t moderate himself – he smiled. She smelt the book with closed eyes. She smiled also.

She opened her eyes so big. Another surprise. In the first page – so fine page – there was a dedication wrote with a beautiful letter by pen – at black ink.

For you: with the Life for partner you dance a beautiful pas-de-deux.

Someone that she – probably – would never know and that had the Life for partner touched the book before her.

Maybe a woman wrote for a man – or a man wrote for a woman. No signature. No names. No dated. Maybe one of them was sad or wounded. Maybe feel melancholic or the words made company. Or the opposite – could be a celebration – a birthday.

She would go on to fantasy about the man or the woman – but desisted. Another moment could be – not on that so special instant.

She read the first poem: tobacco shop. She really admired Pessoa and in special that poem. How could him know.

I made myself who I did not know

And what I could make for myself I did not.

The domino costume that I wore was wrong.

Someone met myself as I was not and I did not deny, and I got lost.

When I wanted to take off the mask,

Was stuck to my face.

When took off and I saw myself in the mirror,

I had aged.

She repeated in low voice. He seemed be touched but said nothing.

She remembered their first meeting.

There – they were involved by musical instrument.

Now they were involved by musical words.

There they were separated for an empty chair.

A funny and surreal scene seemed to be created after her thinking. She was surprised.

A girl came with coffee and some biscuit and looked at him and ask so polite – if you don’t need this empty chair I will give it to that man. There is no seat for him. At this time – most of the people want to drink coffee.

They looked each other and he said to the girl – please we don’t need this empty chair. No more.

She touched his hand and the small book close to the breast. Maybe for fear that disappeared.

The night became.

Sit on the park many years after – she could remember each detail from that meeting – from that evening.

She kept the book all over the years with so much care. The book it was the only proof she had that once she was so passionate and that the feelings were real and absolutely not a fantasy.

In that night they went together to his home and during almost the dawn – they talked about themselves. It was so many stories.

She looked at him and tried to understand his thoughts. Sometimes seems that he liked her truthfully. Other times she felt that she was just a company. And that he could be without her and didn’t miss her. But in the next second after this conclusion – he touched her with so much care and she decided she was just insecure. And thanked because he couldn’t read her fools thoughts.

The life put them together for some reason – or for some emotion. And she believed that – when facts like this happen – it is important live the situation until the end. And she wanted to do it.

But nothing is so clear when two persons look at each other. The truth is inside the eye and in the hand – not inside the mouth. Words are free to be false. Life is calm if a person just walks in the way of the years. In the opposite – if a person stops and looks for details of the landscape – life is like a storm.

The car stopped too, somebody inside was moving the hand slowly, opening the glass. She looked inside and saw him, it was the hand with a soft touch.

What are you doing so lonely walking away from the park? Come on.

He opened the door of the car. She entered, asking at low voice, why did you go away? No words, no reasons. Are you teasing me?

My dear, you did not understand. I said that I would get the car in the parking close to the park. The payment of parking took a lot of time, many people. And also because of the hard traffic I was obliged to make a big tour of the city for coming here.

But the hand in the fog …

With the hand I was saying to you: wait, I will come back.

Now we must go to a ride around but close to the city, it is over the fog. We will see other mountains, other hills. We will change the landscape.

She was mute. Just trying to separate the tiny line between the reality of the words and the metaphor. It is not easy in some situations.

We will go together of course – if you wish. You consider me a complex man but, my dear, I am not. I am a simple man like a boy that comes from a farm.

His voice was so soft, delicious to hear. Sometimes when he was not looking at her and speaking – she closed her eyes just to feel the modulation of his voice. It seemed like an actor’s voice – with the correct decibels.

But at this time she didn’t close her eyes. She looked at him in such a way that it was almost a brain surgery. She wanted so much understand or believe. This was a crossroad: if she believed in him – she disbelieved in herself. If she believed in herself – she disbelieved in him. So complicated – she thought. After all she decided believe in the misunderstanding caused because of the fog.

And she learned that there is not only a truth between two persons. Each one carried the weight of the personal own truth and when is a couple – a new truth is born without permission from one to another. Just born.

Sometimes he looked so tired or so sad. She always waited for his first word or smile. This was a way that she found for not be invasive or precipitated. She acted like in the park: no questions and no answers and a happy smile when he came back.

She understood about solitude – like a poem or a verse rhymed.

He touched her leg so soft. She felt a calm and she breathed slowly. Few minutes later he looked at her and touched her face in a not usual way. Not so close and not so far. Like they were in virtual world or some like this. Like they were writing a book together although separated and very distant in a land far away. But both so close. Maybe this could be nominated – intimacy.

Feeling his hand touching her face so kindly she didn’t know why – but suddenly she remembered the first poem she wrote.

Never – in all her life she had written only a word by hobby – until that early hour in that morning. She awaked with so much angst because the way her personal life was going. Many losses. At that night – before she wrote her first poem – she stood up beside the bed and decided to go to the balcony. It was late in the night and at that hour so much dark and a wind cold. She couldn’t breath easily. She came back into the bedroom and saw a piece of paper on the little table near the bed. She got the paper – found a pen and wrote her first poem since she was born.

Many years later she knew that – that poem had saved her life.

“I cry for your absent hands/ I cry for your present back/ I cry for the clothes on the hanger/ useless and meager/ I feel the warmth of the tear/ that run down calm/ disguised/ slow. I cry to know I am.”

The word – hands – made her move a little bit surprised. Like a little jump ordered by the body more than by the mind – or perhaps – the opposite. But she said nothing.

As he had read her thinking – he held her hand and said smiling – now you are safe.

Maybe after so many years she could be calm – even for minutes or hours or days – it didn’t matter the time. Time is selfish and has it’s own measures. The important is not the measures – but the intensity of the feelings. Now she knew this. Moving – she sit closer him and held his arm.

She learned some years ago that it is the hand that demonstrated the solitude – the loneliness. She thought it were the eyes – but she was wrong. It was a hard finding but now time went on. She changed her life with – her own hands. She almost smiled – but controlled herself.

He was in silence. Just his hand changed from her face to her leg. She said nothing – when he was in silence she respected. It was his style maybe to feel better some situation. She knew that he was never absent from all around him – especially her. And waited in silence also – as habitual.

He looked at a square and said surprised – yes.

Stopped and parked the car.

Come on. I will show you some that you will like too much – I’m sure.

She did the same as before: no questions and no answers but at this time – immediately – a happy face.

She was becoming to have confidence on him. And he held her hand and they went – together – to this mysterious place.

After took the picture from his hands secretly – after the half and complete smiles – when they drunk one or two glasses of wine – he explained his feelings about dogs.

Rethinking – could be after two or three glasses – for sure. She was not so expansive without help.

In vino veritas – as the silence theory of the philosopher existentialist – is also another really truth.

He confessed his love for dogs. A sweet person – she thought. Human. Excellent values. He loved animals – dogs. She listened – maybe said congratulations – now she was not sure.

This was the reason she preferred remember with closed eyes. It is like a hallucination. All we want we can create.

Returned to the memory. She said – of course with the blessed help of the wine – you should celebrate because we will never marry. I don’t like dogs at all.

For sure she would never knew what he thought. Not because of her low level of animals love, but because the verb to marry. He looked to her in a mix of surprise plus misunderstanding. There were only one or two hours he gave just a half smile and she conjugated this scary verb. With the wine for companion – she tried to explain to him her theory about growth and progress.

So polite as before – so elegant as before – he invited her to go into the restaurant and …

Outlaw version

No Mr. Policeman, I had not touched the woman, I respect women, more I have fear, they are so clear, at the first time and after few minutes you understand nothing, they change suddenly, I wont only her money, I have a family. Yes Mr. policeman, you know the family I had in the village, all was killed … me? No, no! I was not there. Yes my wife was awful, every day asking for money. I have an alibi, I was at my home in the city, with my true family, with my four kids, my marvelous woman. The woman accused me of sexual violence, it’s not true, you see me, I have an age… two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: I would do it but I can’t.

It was “he” who has made violence to the woman, for accusing me.

“he” version

Mr. Policeman, you can’t believe to a horrible outlaw, look, I am a philosopher, well dressed, polite, not freeze as he is. You may hear which vulgar pronunciation he has.

I was linked to a tree, I watched and it was impossible to do anything. And please write, Mr. Policeman, the woman was not really scared, it seems that she was quite happy for the new experience, the whore. I passed years working hard for her pleasure, dressing, colored nails, her expensive wine. At the end the woman choosed this way.

the woman…

The woman…

She opened so big her eyes to look for all: the woman and the policeman, the elegant man – and also the other not elegant. Where they were.

There was nobody. She stood up so fast and her hair covered her face. With the hand tremulous she arranged the hair and looked around. The same as before: people were on the grass reading, talking with a very low voice or listening music with headphones. The silence was only broken for a bird or some pat.

Not so fast as she stood up – but finally she understood. She slept. She dreamed. A “daynightmare” – in the park.

She concluded with a – at this time – half smile. The first thinking it was that the dream was like a film she watched so many years ago. Why “the film was” in the park with a fog now – it was the first question inside her. The second question was why she dreamed with a woman that accused the elegant man of sexual violence. And she could hear – even awake – his voice affirming that “it is not true, you see me, I have an age… two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: (at low voice) I would do it but I can’t.

Why this dream like that so distant film. It was a question for so much analysis.

For years she went to the psychoanalyst trying to discover what was cover. And vice-versa. Ten years later she had more doubts than before. And said good-bye to the analyst. Not only for this. He was so intelligent and knew kilometers of theory – but couldn’t control his own admiration for her. It was a difficult moment but both said good-bye to the Austrian God and became only friends. He moved to another city. She moved to another city. Nevermore they met each other.

Now she missed him. She could tell him the dream and he could help her. She could tell him about the fight for the time of a hug. At this point – she smiled completed. No. She couldn’t tell this for him. He was a passionate psychoanalyst and for sure would ask not so sweet why he left her alone on the grass. And will hate him forever and ever. Two fights for a hug time instead of one.

Once more she lifted the neck looking for him – like a hope. She wanted so much he had come back – but still only the empty fog.

He invited her to go to a restaurant and she agreed. It was the last memory before begin to sleep and dream that strange dream. It was a wonderful night.

She decided get out from the park. When she was almost outside she saw a policeman speaking with an elegant man. A extravagant woman with a very short dress and colored nails hold with much care a bottle of wine – it seems an expensive wine because of the care she hold.

The elegant man was supposing to explain something important to the policeman – that for his expression wasn’t believe in any one word that the elegant man said.

She went away. It was so much for a fog morning. But different of him – she looked behind on her shoulders.

She was sad. Maybe he would never return. And she would have in her mind only the idea of his hand with soft touch.